Song of Solomon
On HPHS Approved Book List
Approved for unrestricted use in the curriculum, but not in use at this time.
“The sights, I guess.” Another man answered the first. “The sights and the women.”
“You kidding,” said the first man in mock dismay, “you mean to tell me pussy different up north?” “Naw,” said the second, “pussy the same everywhere. Smell like the ocean, taste like the sea.” “Can’t be,” said a third, “got to be different.” “Maybe the pricks is different,” the first man spoke again. “Reckon?” asked the second man. “So I hear tell,” said the first man. “How different?” asked the second man. “Wee little,” said the first man. “Wee, wee little.” “Naw!” said the second man. “So they tell me. That’s why they pants so tight. That true?” The first man looked at Milkman for an answer. “I wouldn’t know,” said Milkman. “I never spent much time smacking my lips over another man’s dick.” Everybody smiled including Milkman. It was about to begin.
“What about his ass hole? Ever smack your lips over that?” “Once,” said Milkman. “When a little young nigger made me mad and I had to jam a Coke bottle up his ass.” “What do you use a bottle for? Your cock wouldn’t fill it?” “It did. After I took the Coke bottle out. Filled his mouth too.”
This breast-feeding was “one of her two secret indulgences – the one that involved her son – and part of the pleasure it gave her came from the room in which she did it. She sat in this room holding her son on her lap, staring at his closed eyelids and listening to the sound of his sucking. Staring not so much from maternal joy as from a wish to avoid seeing his legs dangling almost to the floor.
In late afternoon before her husband closed his office and came home, she called her son to her. When he came into the little room she unbuttoned her blouse and smiled. He was too young to be dazzled by her nipples, but was old enough to be bored by the flat taste of his mother’s milk, so he came reluctantly, as to a chore….
…She felt him. His restraint, his courtesy, his indifference, all of which pushed her into fantasy. She had the distinct impression that his lips were pulling from her a thread of light. It was as though she were a cauldron issuing spinning gold.